


Code Blue

by cosmogyrals



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:29:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmogyrals/pseuds/cosmogyrals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martha meets a different Doctor just after his regeneration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Code Blue

As Martha's typing up her latest report, a window pops up on her computer monitor with an urgent message - a Code Blue. She grins happily at the screen, glad to have something to relieve the tedium of work for a bit, and takes note of the location before pulling her labcoat on and standing up.

She finds herself in one of the loading bays of UNIT HQ - a peculiar location, she thinks, but there's no telling what goes through his mind sometimes. And then she gasps as she sees the TARDIS in one corner, scorchmarks blackening its sides. Through everything she's seen and done, nothing's _ever_ damaged the TARDIS, at least not visibly. If the exterior is damaged, the interior has to be worse. She pushes her way through the ring of soldiers surrounding it, rolling her eyes at the guns trained on the ship. It's something that hints at a larger problem, but she doesn't have time to worry about that now.

She tries the door, but it's locked - another peculiarity. She tugs the key out from under her shirt and fits it into the lock, turning it and pushing the door open. The console room is dark and silent; the silence of death, she thinks, her stomach starting to knot with worry. One of the men outside passes her a torch, which she switches on, watching the beam of light play across the devastation within. It's worse than when the Master cannibalised the TARDIS and turned it into the paradox machine. Cables dangle from the ceiling, and the interior - it's in a different style, but she can still see the evidence of fire, wreckage strewn everywhere. And there, beneath the console itself, Martha sees just the barest hink of _something_ , shadowy and huddled in on itself.

"Doctor," she gasps, not really realising that she's said anything, rushing to his side. He's curled up in the fetal position, his back to her, but Martha can already tell that this isn't _her_ Doctor. She wonders what could have happened to him to force him to regenerate like this. She gently turns him over, though his new bulk requires her to use all her strength. He's unconscious, a small piece of coral with wires extending down into a hole in the floor clutched to his chest. A shimmer of golden light plays over it, and she's almost afraid to move the Doctor, as if the two are connected. But she's got to get him out of here - at least so she can tell what the extent of his wounds are.

"I need a gurney!" she snaps in the direction of the doorway, pulling her stethoscope out of her pocket. Pressing the bell to his chest, Martha hears one heartbeat, fluttering weakly, and the sound of fluid-filled lungs struggling to breathe. "Don't worry," she whispers, pressing a hand to his forehead. "I promise I'll take care of you." He shifts slightly in response to her voice, but she holds him down, keeping him still so he doesn't aggravate the injuries she's sure are there.

After what seems like an eternity alone in the dark with the Doctor, two soldiers enter with a stretcher. Martha carefully pries his fingers away from the coral, whispering an apology as she does so, and lets them lift the Doctor onto the stretcher and out of the TARDIS. She blinks at the light of the loading bay, her eyes tearing up, but she knows there's no time to waste. She takes control of the gurney herself, nearly running as she pushes it to the infirmary, not caring who's in the way.

He tosses and turns once he's on the crisp white sheets of the bed, his breaths shallow and quick. Martha frowns at the burnt remnants of too-tight clothing on him, green velvet stretching across his back, and grabs a pair of shears. They're designed to cut through flesh and bone, and they make quick work of the cloth. Martha winces at the bare skin that's revealed - burns stretching out over large areas, scabbed-over wounds that look like the result of shrapnel, and even a few strange marks that she recognises as [Lichtenberg figures](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lichtenberg_figure) branching out over his chest. 

Martha takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself, and settles down to work. By some lucky coincidence, none of the burns appear to be worse than third-degree; she's not sure where she would get enough undamaged skin for tissue grafts. They have synthetic tissue cultures growing in the lab, but she doesn't know if they're compatible with a Gallifreyan's immune system. As she keeps working, she's reminded of just how little she really knows about Time Lord anatomy; she can only pray that she's doing the right thing and not making the situation worse. His vitals seems to be stabilising, though, and that can only be a good sign.

As she stitches the last of the wounds up, he opens his eyes for the first time, looking up at her. His dark gaze is dead, blank and emotionless, and she's almost relieved when his eyes close and he slips back into unconsciousness again - he's sleeping, as far as she can tell.

When she has time, she calls Jack, telling him to come as soon as possible. Jack's the closest thing she has to a Doctor expert, though she's painfully aware that even he doesn't have anywhere near the level of knowledge she needs to successfully treat him. He promises to come straight away, though it'll take him a few hours to make the journey from Cardiff to London. She passes the time by taking x-rays and scrutinising every inch of them, trying to determine if there's anything she's missing.

Jack peers around the door at the catatonic Doctor. "That's the one before yours," he says quietly, his voice low. "You've got to get him out of here. Treating him could very well cause a paradox and rip a hole in the universe, Martha."

"So, what, I'm just supposed to shove him back in the TARDIS and have them cart it back to wherever they found it?" she hisses between clenched teeth, her eyes wide with surprise. "Look, Jack, he's barely stable. Moving him could kill him - and then what sort of a paradox would we have? I'm _not_ letting him out of my care."

"All right, all right." He holds his hands up defensively. "I care for him just as much as you do, but...look, I like the universe without a hole in it. You've got to face the facts - you know that he makes it through this because you know him in the future."

"And what if that's only because I took care of him?" she demands. "I'm the one with a medical degree. I know how serious the situation is. You don't." She turns her back on him and strides back into the room, bending over the Doctor. He opens his eyes again, croaking out a few words in a language she can't understand, and she wonders about timelines intersecting = and entangling - as she carefully tips water into his mouth, still aware of Jack leaning against the doorframe and watching both of them.

He stays huddled in on himself as his wounds heal, sleeping most of the time. Martha occasionally wakes him to press food and water on him, but she mainly lets him sleep - it's easier for both of them that way. Sometimes, she watches him toss and turn on the bed, crying out in the unfamiliar language that can only be Gallifreyan, and she wonders what he's dreaming of, what sort of nightmares he must be trapped in.

Jack's words stay in the back of her mind, always nagging at her, and once his wounds are half-healed, she takes him back to his TARDIS, placing him under the console again, pressing the bit of coral into his hands. It brightens a bit, as if it recognises him, and he looks at her one last time, a deep, sorrowful pain that she's never seen before in his eyes. "Goodbye, Doctor," she whispers, turning her back on him resolutely for the second time. She watches as they load the TARDIS back onto the truck, hoping that she's made the right decision, that the universe won't stop existing, because there's nothing else she could have done.

Her Doctor drops by for tea the next day, and they make polite small talk over biscuits - he mentions a few planets he's been to lately, she talks about her family and Tom and anything but his previous regeneration. When he stands to leave, she catches his eye for a moment, and she can see a distant echo of that pain and desperate loneliness.

"Thanks," he says quietly, looking away, and then he leaves.


End file.
